


Help

by dralexreid



Series: Dr Piper Bishop [47]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27709354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dralexreid/pseuds/dralexreid
Summary: Piper wrangles with her nightmares; the BAU handle a case in Providence of a man's wrestle with his inner demons.
Relationships: Dr Spencer Reid/Dr Piper Bishop
Series: Dr Piper Bishop [47]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972852
Kudos: 13





	Help

Piper barely heard the question over the soft afternoon light hitting her closed eyelids. The warmth was kind to her, soothing the soreness she felt in the back of her eyes. “Dr Bishop?” She opened her eyes, blinking at the bespectacled lady sitting in front of her. She couldn’t have been much older than Piper was herself, a few more crinkles of experience, wrinkles of worry around her eyes. “How much sleep have you been getting nightly?” The corner of Piper’s mouth quirked in humour.

“You seem to presume that I’ve been counting. You’d have to ask Dr Reid.”

“Piper.” She raised her shoulders in defence.

“I don’t know. I… I’ve been trying to keep track. But it’s honestly just snatches of sleep.”

“Doctor, you understand that I can’t clear you for the field if you haven’t been getting a good schedule of sleep.” Piper sighed, rubbing her face. “Why are you doing this job?” Piper wrinkled her eyebrows but noticed the genuine features on her face.

“Because I need to.” She sighed. “I need to know I’m doing something to help protect the people that need it.” Dr Hartley nodded vehemently, as though Piper had just made a point for her.

“And your siblings, have you ever felt a duty to protect them?” Piper’s look was definitely one of incredulity.

“Always. And before you say it was from the guilt of a mother’s death or the inability of my father to love us, then I’ll have you know that that was self-diagnosed as soon as I moved for Berkeley.” Dr Hartley’s eyes crinkled in humour.

“I think you have a very admirable but problematic need to protect people, Doctor. And I think that that is why you will not sleep.” Piper straightened in her seat as the other doctor continued. “I think you’re terrified of the possibility that if you rest for even a second, someone else will be—” she searched for the right word— “hurt.” Piper nodded slowly, taking the opinion in.

“So how do I deal with it?” Piper asked. “I can’t very well keep an eye on every person I happen to not want to be injured.” Hartley snorted. Emily didn’t know what she was harping on about, Piper thought, Hartley had a fine sense of humour. Although, it had to be noted that Emily’s sense of humour was not universal.

“Perhaps goodnight messages will suffice? Check-in with your family and friends. And perhaps have a warm cup of milk before you go to bed tonight.” The hour was up, and Piper stood, shaking the woman’s hand before leaving, muttering that she’d already tried, very unwillingly because of Penelope. It had only resulted in a spilt cup of milk and two ruined tops. She took the steps down two at a time, her bike stationed loyally outside next to the tall dark man in sunglasses.

“Ever heard of a text message?” Piper asked him and he smiled.

“Then I wouldn’t have gotten to see your face, angel.” Derek took his glasses off, pocketing them as he spoke to her in a low voice.

“Jet’s waiting for us to go to Providence. JJ’ll brief you on the jet.” Piper groaned before looking around. There was no dark SUV on the sparsely populated street outside her therapist’s office.

“How did you get here from Quantico?”

“Anderson,” he supplied. The man was a marvel. “Can’t ride a bike though. Figured I’d hop on with you.” Piper sighed as she grabbed her keys.

“Fine. But I hate clingy guests,” she warned him as she took her seat and passed him her helmet. “Hope it fits.”

“I really hope there wasn’t some hidden reference to how big my head is in there.” Piper beamed at him as he slid the helmet on.

“Now, when you put it like that…” Derek swatted her head, but she’d had the adequate practice of dodging siblings trying to get to her head and she ducked. “Get on.”

* * *

“Captain Paul Collins is the third victim in 2 weeks,” JJ murmured to Piper as she slipped into her seat. Derek was already tuned in to his music behind them and Emily was still driving in with Spencer.

“Military?” Piper asked, flipping through her file.

“Yeah, four tours in Iraq, just came home 2 weeks ago.”

“So, a decorated war hero, I presume,” she muttered.

“Yeah, but that wasn’t why he was targeted. It was just convenience.”

“Killing in a church isn’t convenient,” Piper countered. “It’s symbolic.”

“The pattern doesn’t fit though. The first victim, Mike O’Donnell, was found under a sink in the men's room at a restaurant. And Karen LaGrassa was killed at the laundromat. All 3 had their throats slashed. The victimology's all over the place.”

“It's like this guy doesn't care who he's killing, just how. Has to be public, maybe he’s a thrill-seeking killer. Like he’s challenging us to find him,” Piper proposed, and JJ shrugged.

“What’s worrying is the cooling-off period is getting shorter but no attempt to hide who he is or what he's doing. Rossi figured the unsub is having a major psychotic break,” JJ added as Emily filed in with Spencer behind her. “Garcia already pulled recent releases on prisons and mental hospitals.” The pair slipped into the seats in front of JJ and Piper

“So, Hotch wants me to look at the reports?” JJ nodded, eliciting a groan from Piper as she scrolled through her tablet. Spencer chuckled as he pulled out a file from his own messenger bag.

“It’s not so bad,” Emily joked. “At least you don’t have to go to the church.” Piper smiled courteously but wondered inside whether it was worrying. Maybe it was the counsellor within her, looking for wounds to help heal and Emily’s deeply fraught relationship with her faith and the Catholic Church was only made more intricately painful by its association with the death of a beloved and loyal friend. But the moment had passed and the appearance of Hotch and Rossi abruptly changed the conversation.

“Why is he using a knife?” Rossi started as they felt the plane rumble.

“Guns assure the highest number of fatalities,” Derek offered.

“If we’re looking at symbolism, a knife is a more personal weapon, you know, the whole last twist of the knife thing,” Piper noted, “but it ranges from belief system to belief system. In Buddhism, cutting with a knife means deliverance or liberation. In Christianity, it represents martyrdom. There’s also the matter of what kind of knife he’s using.”

“I may regret this but, what do you mean?” Rossi asked, inching slightly away from her as she smirked, pulling out the pictures of their victims.

“See that cut,” she directed with a ringed finger. “Can’t be made with a regular kitchen knife or a cleaver. A pocket-knife would be easy to use, easy to conceal but doesn’t have the same precision and the blade’s weaker. A combat or hunting knife is harder to conceal and obtain. Then there’s the complete set of variegated daggers and types of blades.” She looked back up at her team, eyes casually flitting to most of them. "We'd have to scan through places that sell something vague and strong enough." Emily’s eyes flickered between her and JJ who just shrugged as she turned to her file. Spencer’s smile was smug as he glanced back at Derek who just shook his head. She swore Rossi had turned slightly pale as he cleared his throat, definitely regretting his question.

“If all he's interested in is quantity, he could be doing this more efficiently,” Emily added, clearing her throat as Hotch returned to his seat with a fresh, steaming cup of coffee. “He could be training. Spree killers often do dry runs before they start their rampage.”

“Most spree killers have lost control by the time they begin,” Spencer countered. “They're always male. If they don't fall into the school shooter category, They're older, in their 40s and 50s, socially isolated. The stressor's usually the dissolution of their last social outlet. George Hennard was inspired by James Huberty. Between the two of them, they shot 43 people at fast-food restaurants.”

“Well, if he's practising for his mass murder,” Hotch said. “He's definitely getting bolder about it.”

“And bloodier,” Rossi scoffed.

“It seems like slitting the throat and the act of bloodletting is his release but it’s gonna become insignificant real soon,” Derek warned.

“That makes sense with regards to his fantasy life. If he is planning something big, he'll spend his day-dreaming of it, getting back at slights both real and imagined,” Emily continued.

“Without a specific target victim, we need to concentrate on the crime scenes and see what they tell us. Prentiss, you take the laundromat,” Hotch demanded.

“I'll have Detective Moreland meet you there,” JJ added with a small smile.

“I'd like to take a look at the church if you don't mind,” Rossi volunteered, and Piper announced that she could go through the recent releases of patients and inmates with the relevant psychological state as the unsub.

“Good. JJ, you and Morgan interview Captain Collins' wife. She got the best look at the unsub. See what she remembers. Reid and I will run point from the police station,” Hotch finished as he moved over to a comfortable seat, latching his seatbelt as Piper perused her own file. She pinched the bridge of her nose as she skimmed through the victimology, marking small notes in pencil as she went along. She felt a small nudge against her foot as Spencer shifted while Emily and JJ moved to grab cups of coffee each. She felt another nudge as Spencer scratched his nose.

“What?” she hissed out of earshot of everyone except Derek, who was clearly what Spencer was warning her about.

“So,” he said suavely, his tone smooth enough to rattle even the most determined woman. “What did Hartley say?” Immediately, Piper felt all eyes on her, like she was a curious animal behind a glass wall being tapped at by nosy, grimy and sweaty kids. Piper let out a breath as she slipped the file onto her desk.

“She recommended a warm cup of milk before I go to bed,” Piper chuckled, releasing the tension between the group. But Derek’s dark eyes didn’t leave her frame. “And she thinks the nightmares might stop if I check in on you guys every once in a while,” she mumbled, loud enough for Derek, Spencer and Hotch to hear. She couldn’t ignore her boss moving over to sit next to Rossi, murmuring something to him. Or how Rossi walked in step with Emily as they moved to the SUVs outside the jet. Or how Emily muttered something to JJ out of their earshot in the precinct as Piper got started on the psych evaluations of each inmate and patient. Spencer and Hotch discussed the details and their predictions next to her in front of the board.

“Thus far, he's struck at a restaurant bathroom, a laundromat, and a church,” Hotch thought aloud.

“He chooses his victims not out of preference, but of favourable circumstance,” Spencer continued as he jumped up to sit on a cabinet.

“With each kill he's growing bolder, telling us he doesn't care who sees him.”

“So next time it'll be even more public.”

“I’ve got Garcia compiling a list of public events that we should be monitoring,” their boss reported. Piper felt her cell buzz in her back pocket, and she pulled it out.

“Speak of the devil. I’ve got her here, Cap,” Piper said beaming as she pressed speaker. “You’re on speaker, babe. You ready?"

_“Wired for sound, and ready for action.”_

“What have you got so far?”

_“Well, you got your "Sesame Street on Ice, " your Harlem globetrotters, your Beatles cover bands. Not to mention the dozens of college bars and late-night hangouts frequented by the youth of America.”_

“No event is too big or too small. Good. Keep going,” Hotch praised.

 _“Aye, aye, Cap'n.”_ Piper held back a giggle as she flipped her cell shut and pocketed it.

* * *

Meanwhile, JJ let Morgan sidle past the gaggle of reporters surrounding Mrs Collins’ house as she tackled them. “What's the FBI's involvement in the investigation?”

“No comment.”

“In the murder of Captain Collins?”

“We are strictly here just to advise the Providence police department,” JJ said, her voice calm as Derek entered the house.

“Is the Collins murder tied to the other two stabbings of last week?”

“When they are ready to make their statement, they'll let you know. Thank you,” she dismissed the group as she joined Morgan with the distraught widow.

“They've been out there all day,” she grumbled, running a hand through her short pixie cut. “Some of my friends wanted to come by, they didn't want to be on the 6:00 news.”

“Your husband's a hero,” JJ tried in a comforting voice.

“Unfortunately, the circumstances of his death have caused this to be a media circus,” Derek explained.

“Well, you'd think they'd show a little... Hey!” The woman turned to her young daughter who goggled out the window. “What did I tell you, Sophia? Get away from the window.”

“Are we going to be on TV?” Sophia asked, her eyes wide as she gazed at her mother and the two strangers in her living room.

“Not if I can help it. Go in your room and play. I'll be there in a sec.” JJ watched the little girl run inside, instantly reminded of her own young son at home with his father. She heard the door close and watched the young woman sink into her armchair, aged from the sudden death of her husband. “I spent years waiting for a phone call or one of those letters they used to hand-deliver to dead soldiers' wives. They want to know if I want to bury Paul at...at Arlington, but I don't have...” She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding “Ok. I know you have a job to do. Let's do this so it's done right. That's what Paul would say. What do you need to know?” She looked at Derek who looked at JJ who took a seat besides the young widow.

“I need you to tell us what happened during communion,” Morgan said slowly and softly.

“We all got up. Paul got out first, but he let me, and Sophia go first,” Mrs Collins started. “Paul always goes last. We...we took communion and we...we went back and we, uh... We...” she stammered, sinking her head into her hands. JJ’s hand flew to her back in comfort.

“That's ok. We're almost done. You're doing great.”

“Paul was on your right,” Derek pressed. “Sophia was on your left. What happened?”

“She was playing,” she scoffed, smiling weakly. “And after communion, you pray. I leaned down and I told her that.”

“So, you were facing to your left, away from Paul, away from the killer. You never see him coming, you never see him go,” Derek mused, and her face paled.

“I need a break.” JJ nodded, and the woman flitted over to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Out of earshot, Derek turned to retrieve his cell, dialling the first number.

 _“Texas Crematorium, you kill ‘em, we grill ‘em. How may I help you on this fine day?”_ Derek tried to hold back a chuckle in front of the widow.

“For someone who used to live in Texas, you’ve gotta have a better accent, Piper.”

“ _Oh c’mon. I’ve been working on it for weeks.”_

“Listen. I may have something. This unsub isn't psychotic and he's not gonna go on a spree. He's too patient.”

 _“Wha—I have been reading these psych evaluations for hours!”_ Derek suppressed his smile, trying to keep his tone smooth. _“So, then, what is he trying to accomplish?”_

“I don't know,” Derek confessed. “Any update from Emily?”

_“Nada. Garcia’s working up a list of public events although, I’m gonna be honest, there’s not a lot of cool stuff to do here.”_

“Rossi come back from church yet?”

_“Yeah, couple of minutes ago. Parish didn’t see anything. He went to check on Emily.”_

“’Kay, I think we might be done here, we’ll be back soon.”

_“Can you get me a coffee on the way back? I hate stale coffee.”_

“You got it, sugar.” He flipped the cell shut, turning to JJ.

“I want to stay here. Meg might recall more, and even if she doesn't, what she's going through...” Derek nodded, not needing to be convinced.

“Let me know if anything happens.” He squeezed JJ’s shoulder as he walked away.

* * *

Emily stood in front of the washing machine, the sound of her voice alone in the empty building. She opened the dryer door, pulling out imaginary clothes and folding them as she spoke aloud, narrating her own actions as she placed herself in the victim’s shoes when an unfamiliar voice rang out.

“You always talk to yourself?” Emily chuckled, holding out her hand for Detective Moreland.

“I’ve been told that I’m brilliant company,” she shrugged. “Emily Prentiss.”

“Jake Moreland, Providence P.D.”

“Good. If these machines were on, I definitely wouldn't hear you come up behind me. Could you just do that again?” Emily spun around, facing the dryer again. “You come in through the back door, slash my throat, walk out. There are no cameras inside or outside of the building.”

“The same is true for all the crime scenes,” the detective countered.

“Which means you're smart enough to plan for that in your attacks.”

“Mm-hmm. But, careless enough to drop a knife 10 feet after I cut you.”

“But you didn't leave any fingerprints.”

“No. He did that at all 3 crime scenes.”

“Mass murderers and spree killers, they often fetishize their weapons, but this guy discards his. Why?”

“Well, he can get a new knife anytime he wants. They carry these at army-navy stores.”

“It could be a scare tactic,” Emily mused, leaning against the wall.

“How so?”

“Americans typically are more terrified by the presence of a knife than a gun. And most rape victims, for instance, they're more likely to scream out for help if they see a gun, whereas they'll comply if they see a blade. So, victimology and murder weapon aren't important to this guy. So, what does that leave?” Emily thought aloud, eyes glazing over as Rossi entered the laundromat.

“The crime scene itself,” he answered for her. “Did you see the sign outside when this place was established?”

“1967,” Jake answered.

“The same as the restaurant. Second generation Italian. Everyone in the neighbourhood eats there.”

“St. Alvina's was built at the beginning of the last century,” Jake added. “So, each location has a history in this community,” he deduced.

“So, he wants to destroy landmarks, pieces of Providence's history,” Emily continued.

“That's why the random victims. He's making a point,” Rossi continued.

“Probably the manifestation of a deep hatred for the city. He wants to scar the places everybody knows and goes to,” Emily proposed.

“Not quite,” he countered. “Take a ride with me. We're gonna have a look at the other crime scenes.”

Perhaps it was a strange sight to see dark SUVs pulling up to the small memorial kept outside of the church, but the aura of grief hadn’t left the town, nor the community as flowers and candles rose in quantity. Captain Paul Collins’ face was plastered onto a large green board, and perhaps if his wife were now seeing the scene reflected in Rossi’s eyes, she would also shed a tear at the group gathered in front of the church.

“Attack an institution, everybody responds. Neighbours come out; the mayor assigns extra cops. A place of worship turns into a crime scene. You feel personally assaulted.”

“That's what gets him off,” Emily said, understanding Rossi’s point. “The response. Public outcry. He wants a big show.”

“You think he's revisiting the crime scenes?” the detective asked from his back seat.

“Not just revisiting,” Rossi answered grimly. “Reliving. He's found a way to keep the murders he's committed fresh because they're always on the city's mind.”

Meanwhile, JJ accepted Sophie’s plastic, yellow teacup, sipping on imaginary tea as Mrs Collins brought in a cup of real tea. She thanked the young widow, keeping a hand wrapped around the empty cup as she took a sip of the warm, honeyed liquid. “It’s good, but I think Sophia’s tea’s a little bit better.” She shot the young girl a wink as she placed the mug down as Sophia blushed a little as she beamed.

“How many do you have?” Mrs Collins asked the young agent in front of her. JJ shot her a questioning look. “You’re too good at this not to be a mom.”

“One. A little boy.”

“Sophia’s first communion is next week,” Mrs Collins said as her little girl grinned brightly.

“She’ll do great,” JJ said as she placed the bright yellow cup down to pick up her ringing phone. She heard Rossi’s phone over the receiver, asking her to do something impossible. The captain’s wife recognised the tone of Jennifer’s voice, gently asking Sophia to play inside.

“I know that tone of voice. It's always followed by bad news.”

“You should know a lot of these guys need to feel powerful. Producing a spectacle gives them that sense of pride. I'm trying to quell that by controlling the circus outside.”

“Is he watching us?”

“Maybe. We think he revisits his crime scenes. It's possible the media could have brought him here.”

“He won't shake my daughter's hand this time if he does.”

* * *

Hotch stood beside Rossi in front of the solemn swarm of police officers. “We suggest that you think of this unsub not as a slasher but as an arsonist because the gratification he's getting isn't from the physical act of murder but from the public's reaction to it.”

“Arsonists draw attention to themselves through the fires they set,” Emily continued in her position between Derek and Piper. “The locations they choose are highly symbolic to them. While this unsub will never set an actual fire, he has the same psychosis as one who does.”

“Our unsub fits that model,” Spencer said, his voice even and grim. “His locations have been pillars of the community. The victims he picks aren't as important as the effect of killing them outside of your favourite restaurant or place of worship.”

“By picking locales with the highest visibility,” Derek added, “he's creating the highest level of fear in that neighbourhood, which reinforces his feeling of power. And while arsonists don’t set out to hurt people, this guy does.”

“We believe he may have a form of antisocial personality disorder,” Piper spoke softly. “Better known as a sociopath. He’s someone who has a clear goal and he doesn’t care about the human cost. The only things he craves are power and attention and his victims are just tools to achieve it.”

“But even how he kills tells us something,” Rossi contributed, his hands gently in his pockets. “Slashing a throat is a messy, visual act. It's designed to create attention, just like a fire.”

“Arsonists are often mission-based,” Reid interrupted. “They need to make sure their first fire has burnt out before they set another one.

“They're also highly disciplined and focused,” Hotch continued. “If conditions aren't right to set a fire, or in this case, slash a throat, they'll move on.”

“He has self-control,” Rossi added. “He has a short cooling-off period because he's enjoying what he's doing. This in turn feeds his ego and keeps him covering his tracks. This makes him even more dangerous.”

“If he gets frustrated, encounters too many obstacles, or suffers a blow to his narcissistic ego,” Piper commented, Derek looking back at Hotch as cell phones started to ring. “He could go on an all-out rampage.”

“Focus on men between jobs. Instead of working consistently, he is hunting at his next location. And he's revisiting his old scenes. We recommend you...” Emily trailed off as Hotch’s cell rang. He raised it to his ear, announcing quickly that there was a new body. The detective in charge proclaimed the address to the team and they jumped to action. Rossi ran through the rest of the profile rapidly while Emily tossed Derek his jacket and Spencer handed Piper a hair tie as the others headed to the SUVs. Piper and Emily settled on a loaned bike, streaming ahead of the others as the boys followed. Rossi and Hotch walked out to their own car as the boss ordered JJ to be at the new crime scene to handle the reporters. He heard the non-verbal conflict in JJ’s head, making his tone explicitly clear. The job came first. Above emotions. Above personal demands. The job always came first. The two middle-aged men approached the farmer’s market last, exiting near the back of a large crowd.

“This feels like Coachella,” Rossi scoffed. “Without good music.” Hotch turned to him, a perplexed look on his face.

“You’ve been to— Never mind.”

Piper and Emily treaded through the empty side of the market, Emily’s dark eyes catching the sight of blood. “I don’t see any sign of a knife.”

“Join the FBI, Gideon said,” Piper grumbled. “Traverse the country, meet sociopaths, follow blood trails into dark alleys—and get killed.” Emily grinned as she tiptoed around the drops.

“Which part sold you?”

“The fact that I could get out of Texas,” Piper scoffed as Emily stopped abruptly.

“You got a torch on you?” Piper sighed, pulling a penlight out of her pocket.

“In no other job would I have a torch on me,” she murmured, passing it over to Emily who raised it up and near a large greenish dumpster.

“Did Gideon ever mention dumpster diving?” Emily asked winningly and Piper pulled out her phone as they gazed into the dark mass.

“Hey, Rossi, we may have found something.”

* * *

David listened solemnly before asking Piper to hold for a minute as he dialled Derek. Listening to the update for a few minutes, Rossi flipped the cell shut, slipping it into his pocket as he charged through the crowd to meet the detective and Hotch behind the yellow tape. “The unsub changed his clothes. He left his blood-soaked ones in the trash.”

“He came prepared?” Hotch asked.

“A witness says the first responder, a citizen, cried out for help maybe 2 seconds after the stabbing. He was the unsub.” Hotch nodded solemnly, turning to the detective.

“He's not content with revisiting the crime scene anymore, he needs to be part of them. Establish a perimeter around the market. Put your men no more than 20 feet apart. Every cop needs to be in sight of one another,” Hotch directed. He watched the officers spread out, detaining everyone inside the market as the team cleared them one by one. But a net, however tightly bound, can always rip apart at the seams as an officer felt sticky, warm blood bubble from his throat, a familiar figure retreating in the dark. He croaked out a name in vain but remained invisible in the dark alley until the light shone into the street.

* * *

Piper’s eyes fluttered open to see Spencer flicking through the local paper with what she presumed to be a cup of coffee. Soft dawn filtered through the shutters of their hotel room as Piper rubbed her face. “Morning,” he said grimly before taking a large slurp of his coffee. She rose from the bed, moving over to the armchair where Spencer lounged, pressing a kiss to the top of his hair as she mumbled ‘morning’ back. She set the kettle to boil before gliding to the bathroom.

“What happened?” Piper’s muffled voice came through the bathroom, no doubt the bristles of her toothbrush blocking her clarity.

“Officer Liddy was stabbed last night.” He heard no response, merely a pause, then the running of a tap. She came out, silent as she grabbed a hair tie and a teabag from her purse which sat on the counter.

“Did he have any family?”

“Doesn’t say.” Piper whipped around to give him a look. “A daughter. Wife passed away a year ago.”

“That poor girl,” Piper murmured.

“Hotch texted me, said we have until 9 to get down there.” Piper yawned as she nodded, settling her tea to let it steep as she withdrew a comfortable outfit from her bag before asking gently for Spencer to read the article out to her. His voice was steady as she closed her eyes, leaning her head on her knuckles. Behind closed eyes, she could imagine the fear the officer went through, lying in his own blood as he stared at the stars. She drained the last of her tea, imagining how he might have thought of his own daughter, alone, waiting for her father to come home, instead of seeing his colleague in the middle of the night, her world twisted upside down for the second time. Eventually, his voice trailed off and he folded up the newspaper before he checked the phone. She shook herself off, setting down the cup to change before they made their way to the precinct. Silently, she passed the photos of the officer’s crime scene to Spencer who pinned it up as she slid into her chair while JJ walked in, turning her cell between her fingers. Her eyes seemed glazed over, unflinching as the chair whined at her tug. She sat down gingerly, her electric blue eyes not focusing on anything. Meanwhile, tensions were running high with the local officers. With a fellow officer down, who could blame them?

“Those gotta be on the board, too?” Officer Gardella asked as Spencer sat down. “What's the next great bit of advice from the FBI, huh?”

“Take it easy, Gardella,” the detective warned. “This ain't the time or the place.”

“If we hadn't listened to them, Liddy and I would be having our morning cup of coffee.” Piper stared at her hands as Hotch tried to calm them down.

“We profiled that he was mission-oriented, and this kill doesn't fit that pattern,” he placated.

“The murder of Officer Liddy is a significant departure even for someone as unpredictable as this unsub,” Spencer explained, turning to Emily.

“This was a murder of self-preservation, just to get away,” she said softly as Piper glanced at Derek leaning against the cabinet mournfully.

“This location is not his MO,” she heard Rossi say. “Secluded, with no audience, stabbing, not cutting.”

“So what?” Gardella asked, exasperated.

“So, he's out prowling the streets right now looking for another victim so the city will pay attention to him,” Hotch retorted calmly. “You've been handed a list of locations that we think might be of particular interest to the unsub. We're asking you to double and even triple your surveillance in these areas.”

“Keep your wits about you, guys. That’s it, fellas.” Piper watched the uniformed officers leave at the detective’s dismissal before paying close attention to what Hotch told him next.

“Detective, the story has become about Officer Liddy. We need to get the attention back on the unsub or we're afraid that he may lash out,” Hotch cautioned gently.

“Up till now, the unsub has been disciplined enough to avoid killing if the circumstances weren't right,” Spencer explained. “Like an arsonist who won't set a fire if there's someone there to see him leaving while smoke is billowing out the windows.”

“What if we say that one of the buildings didn't burn? How would the unsub react to that?” Rossi leaned into the group as Derek listened from behind him.

“He'd be compelled to come back and finish the job,” Piper answered, following Rossi’s train of thought.

“Then we pick one of the previous locations, show that the community has rallied around it, that they're not afraid of him.”

“Ok, so we need to find a location with the greatest symbolism up to this point,” Emily thought aloud.

“That's easy.” JJ glanced up at the photo Rossi held up to them before sharing a look with Piper. “And we use the city’s fallen hero as inspiration.”

“Should we get the chief of police or the mayor to make a statement?” JJ offered quickly. “It could help with inspiring people.”

“We've got something better. Captain Collins' widow.”

“I...I cannot ask her to do that,” JJ managed.

“She's highly visible, and she's someone with whom the entire city can sympathize,” Hotch tried. “When she tells the city not to be afraid to come back to church, the unsub can't ignore that.”

“Hold on,” Piper interrupted. “What if this puts Meg and her daughter in danger?”

“We keep her with us,” Rossi replied. “We take the bastard down.” JJ sighed uneasily and the team watched her move to her laptop to work on a statement for Meg.

“She won’t do it,” Piper warned as she got up too. The others dispersed, some to get coffee, others to call family, their boss to call the mayor as Rossi and Piper stood in front of the evidence board. He shrugged.

“We have to ask her. Other people’s lives are at stake.” She nodded grudgingly before returning to her seat and reviewing the files. “His goal is to create mass hysteria,” she murmured to herself.

“Killing a cop’ll do that,” Derek huffed, taking Rossi’s seat.

“Officer Liddy wasn’t a part of his plan. So, what is?”

“I have no idea,” he sighed. Hours passed like this. The back and forth between each member yielded no results as Hotch attempted to convince the city mayor while JJ failed to persuade Meg Collins. Emily watched helplessly as Piper marched out of the precinct for a drive, as Derek drank cup after cup of coffee, as Spencer re-read file after file despite his eidetic memory.

“It’s been 16 hours,” she complained to Rossi as the station emptied out. “We’ve made absolutely no headway.”

“We profiled this guy to be an arsonist,” David murmured thoughtfully. “It’s the aftermath that matters, not the act.”

“You think he's feeding off the grief of the police department instead?” Emily offered.

“If so, then he's found something new to get off on,” Rossi proposed before Emily caught the detective about to leave the precinct.

“You mind giving us a list of establishments where your officers socialise?”

“Bars, restaurants, pool halls, everything you've got,” Rossi listed. Emily called in Hotch and Derek who relayed it to Garcia. By the time Piper walked back in with Spencer and a helmet tucked underneath her arm, Garcia had something.

“Comrades, I have amassed employment records for police hangouts. What do you want me to look for?”

“White males 25 to 30,” Hotch started.

“I'm gonna need more than that.”

“Arsonists typically have a stronger relationship with their mothers than their fathers,” Piper proposed.

“Look for single-mother households with a history of abuse, bad divorce, or paternal violence,” Spencer continued.

“Manifestations in the son, too, Garcia,” Derek added. “Look at juvenile arrests, petty crimes, a significant drop in grades.”

“Thank you, my sweet summer children. That will do. Oh, this looks like something,” Garcia exclaimed.

“What do you have?”

“Connor O'Brien. His dad went to prison for... Oh, Lordy...not only setting mom's apartment on fire but making it look like it was an accident so he could collect on the insurance.”

“Burned his kid's mother for a few bucks?”

“Yeah. And then Connor testified against his father at the trial. He was 10.”

“That’s gotta be rough,” Piper muttered.

“Where’s O’Brien now?”

“Works at the Quality Café.”

“That’s across the street,” the detective said abruptly, rising from his seat and grabbing his jacket. Hotch ordered Emily and Spencer to stay at the precinct while the other 4 agents ran across the street. Piper pulled her Glock out, letting Derek kick the door open before she rushed in with Hotch. Rossi glanced at the four officers sitting at the counter as Piper stormed the back.

“Clear!” she yelled, leaning through the door to the back. “No-one here.”

“Where’s Connor O’Brien?” Rossi asked calmly, ignoring the blood boiling around his ears.

“He went out for a smoke,” the uniformed officer said confusedly. Hotch raised his cell to his ear, asking Garcia for an address before having Derek and Piper meet the others there with a SWAT team. Derek let the detective buckle in as he followed Piper racing through town to the address. He barely registered her swerve and stop outside as he stopped the car. Unholstering his gun, he let the detective barge through the broken door first, checking Piper who flanked his right side. She nodded at him swiftly as they met with SWAT and Emily and Spencer. Piper sidled next to Spencer while Derek drew up to Emily. Emily nodded to the SWAT leader who kicked the door down and the group swarmed the apartment. “Clear!” The house was empty and soon the uniformed unit filtered out of the room, muttering curses about wastes of time and a few choice words about the FBI. Piper’s mouth drew into a line and she volunteered to take the bedroom as Emily followed.

“He's not coming back here,” Spencer sighed to Derek. “He's gonna make his last stand.”

“He's still gonna need to know he's foremost on everyone's mind.” Derek watched Spencer rub his face.

“I swear if this ends in a suicide by cop—”

“Hey, guys,” the boys heard Emily call. “We might have something.” The two boys moved over to the inner room, glancing at Piper taking photos of a—

“We think it’s a shrine to his mother’s memory,” Piper spoke evenly, betraying no emotion. _Hotch taught her well,_ Spencer noted. “That and a reminder of what his father did to them.”

“He's got every article that was printed about his mom's death,” Emily explained. “He has the prayer card from her funeral. Birthday cards.”

“All of them signed by his mom, not by his father,” Piper added, handing one to Derek as Emily pulled out her cell.

“That's a lot of hate,” Derek noted. “His old man is already in prison. He can't attack him. So, he goes after the places that remind him of his father. The only way he can get through to his dad is with violence.”

“Yeah, Garcia?” Emily called out. “Everything you’ve got on William O’Brien.”

_“William O'Brien. Was a connected guy who specialized in turning faulty wiring Into a 3-alarm fire. Because of Connor's testimony, he was given a life sentence for the murder of his wife, but it was recently reduced to the possibility of parole in 5 years.”_

“When was the sentence reduced?”

_“One month ago. Just before the murders started.”_

“There's our stressor,” Derek sighed.

“Why would he do this to get back at his father if he's already in jail?” Emily asked. Piper, Derek and Spencer all gazed at the wall.

“He blames him for everything,” Piper practically whispered. “The big, the small. All of it. If Dad hadn’t said this or done that, everything would have been different.” She sighed. “Post-hoc, ergo propter hoc.” She ran her fingers through her hair, taking one last picture of the scene before she walked out. Derek raised an eyebrow at Emily, whose expression had turned grave.

“After it, therefore because of it,” Emily said before tossing one last look at the memorial. The group of agents gathered around the front of the building, Spencer barely registering Derek’s voice relaying their findings to Hotch and Rossi. Instead, his gaze caught on Piper as her hair caught in her eyes with the blustery Providence air while she approached the detective.

“Library, about a mile from here. Mother found with her crying baby.” Piper’s face paled. “The baby’s okay but they haven’t found the knife yet.”

“This can’t be good,” she muttered. “He’s following his father’s actions, destroying a family, why?”

“He’s panicking too,” Spencer noted. “He might have forgotten to leave the knife behind.”

“Or he’s planning to take out as many people as possible before everything falls apart,” Emily offered as Derek approached them from behind.

“Hotch reckons we go to the original plan. Create an event he can't resist coming to. He has to believe he was unsuccessful.” But Emily simply shook her head.

“If he won't go back to his apartment, I don't think he's gonna revisit the crime scenes.”

“What if we took the diner? He works there, doesn’t know we stormed the place?” Piper proposed but something clicked in Spencer’s head.

“The mother from the library,” he asked the detective, “she's already gone?”

“She bled out at the scene. The EMTs stopped working on her.” Piper cast a curious look at him, her eyes slowly widening as she turned to Jake.

“Could you tell them to keep trying to resuscitate her?” she asked.

“But she's dead,” Jake said dully

“Yeah, but the unsub doesn't know that,” Emily added, catching on as Derek rapidly punched in Hotch’s number.

On the other side of town, Hotch laid out the game plan to the remnants of his team in the SUV headed for the library, the other faction on their way to the library. “Tell the press she made it, she's hanging on for dear life. And we organize a candlelight vigil for her tonight. If he's mission-oriented and he thinks she's still alive, he'll have to come back for her.”

“And we'll be there,” Rossi said grimly.

“I’ll let the husband know what's going on so he's aware. Have the press there. Tell them to go live and to keep the focus on us as much as they can,” JJ nodded swiftly, pulling her cell out to make some calls as the small trio moved to the library before she caught a familiar face. “Mrs Collins?” Hotch and Rossi glanced back at her and JJ made a motion with her hand; holding out five fingers and Hotch nodded, pulling Rossi along to the crime scene.

From a distance, Piper watched JJ do what she did best. Control the press and the narrative. Meanwhile, Spencer stood further away at the TV screens in a nearby retailer’s display. “We are live at the latest crime scene, where the FBI is facilitating what appears to be a rescue attempt of the most recent victim. They are rushing her into an ambulance now.”

“She’s doing a good job,” Piper remarked appraisingly.

“She’s the best I know,” Spencer muttered. “Even convinced Meg to speak up too.” He pointed at the second screen.

“I just hope all of this isn’t in vain.” Spencer looked up at her, turning to face her more fully.

“We’re gonna catch this guy.” Piper padded at the ground.

“We make him sound like an animal.” Piper huffed. In hindsight, he should have said something deeply reflective, something Eliot or Byron would have said but instead all that came out was—

“Yeah,” he said lamely and like a chameleon, Piper transformed into lit determination.

“C’mon. We should take our positions.”

JJ looked out into the audience behind Meg as the other woman pleaded for strength and determination in hard times. Her gaze latched onto Rossi who tugged at his cufflinks, then at Piper who offered her a determined nod before switching to rapt attention, to Spencer who albeit appearing disinterested, offered a small thumbs up. She cleared her throat quietly as she glanced at Emily who took a more mournful approach next to Derek who, like Hotch, maintained a steady gaze around the scene. The entire team heard a soft voice through their earwigs and Piper’s heart jumped.

“I’ve got a twenty on the subject,” Spencer managed as he attempted to quietly broach the unsub. Discreetly, Derek and Emily inched towards them. Piper and Rossi maintained no such discretion, openly sprinting towards Spencer’s side. They raised their guns and Piper heard multiple yells of ‘FBI!’ and ‘Put your hands above your head!’ but instinctually glanced at Spencer who had mirrored Derek’s stance, the barrel of his gun staring at the thin dishevelled young man. Connor’s hand attempted to flit to his pocket, but Jake Moreland got there first, pinning him down as he wrapped cuffs around his wrists. In the brisk air, the team watched Jake shove Connor into the car as Derek and Emily exchanged high fives and Rossi quietly proclaimed that the first round of drinks was on him. Spencer beamed, turning to share his gaze with Piper, but she had already trudged off, a phone clasped to her ear. He tore his gaze over to Derek who wrapped an arm around Spencer, pulling him to the SUV as he clapped his chest.

In the end, they’d had their drinks until JJ reminded them that they had to wake up early for a flight tomorrow. They’d said their goodnights before drunkenly collapsing into their individual beds. Spencer turned the key to his shared room with Piper, walking in to find her packing her luggage away. She felt two heavy arms wrap around her waist and Spencer’s long hair tickled at her neck. “You okay?” His voice was small and dense against her ear and she leaned into his frame, nodding slowly. She would have said something except her phone buzzed so hard, it fell off the table. Piper scoffed, picking it up to find the same 6 texts from each team member.

“I’m safe. Sleep well.”

Piper snorted softly at the texts until another two cropped up from Daniel and Lucy.

“I’m safe. Sleep well.”

She looked up at Spencer who was busy on his own phone and Piper’s cell pinged again.

“I’m safe. Sleep well.” Piper let out a soft laugh, looking up at Spencer in a mix of adoration and glee and surprise and curiosity.

“Did you do this?” she asked him in surprise.

“As much as I’d like to take the credit for it, I have an eidetic memory and that’s not what happened. Technically, Derek told Hotch who told Rossi who told Emily who told JJ who told Garcia who told me who told Daniel who told Lucy,” he paused to take a breath, “to text you every night at precisely 10pm that we are safe, and that you can sleep well.” His fingers curled around the waistbands of her jeans as Piper chuckled.

“Well, thank you,” Piper said, pressing a small kiss to his nose. “It’s a very sweet gesture.” She pulled away from him abruptly and he squawked in surprise. “We have a flight tomorrow. I need to change,” Piper grinned, tucking a navy top and the light grey sweatpants under her arm as she made to move to the bathroom before Spencer tugged at her wrist, pulling her flush against his chest.

“I can help with that,” he beamed, pulling her in for a sweet kiss as he tasted her peach lip balm. Completely unwillingly, she pulled herself away before he could tangle her fingers in her hair.

“You’d never let me put my pyjamas on.” Spencer shrugged.

“There’s no hard and fast rule that you need them to sleep,” he countered, gliding his hand to her navel. “Besides, studies show you sleep better without clothes because it lowers your body temperature, which is a apart of you—”

“Are you making up stats to sleep with me?” Spencer’s face looked horrified.

“No, it’s an actual study by the NIH. It found that the temperature of the room where you sleep is one of the most important factors in achieving quality sleep,” Spencer said, his voice rising in pitch as he flapped his hands in explanation. Free from his grip, Piper fluidly picked up her fallen clothes and stuck out her tongue before sprinting to the bathroom. Spencer bit his lip before muttering, “I should’ve seen that coming.” He moved to pack his own bag, only to see that she’d already done it for him and lain out a cup of tea and a book by Alfred Lord Tennyson beside his side of the bed. “Thank you,” he called out to Piper as he slipped out of his shoes and socks. He watched her emerge from the bathroom, wrangling her hair into a small braid. She nestled a kiss to his cheek as he took to the washroom and she’d fallen fast asleep by the time he emerged.

Spencer’s arm had gone numb by the time he’d woken up. He turned his head to his left, finding his nose slightly submerged in Piper hair and his right-hand curving around her waist to where she interlaced both hands in his flush against her chest. He noticed how her hair had turned bright auburn in the light of dawn and limply tried to pull his arm back. “Mrpmh,” she said, pulling it even closer as she tucked into herself.

“Pipes, we have a flight,” he reminded her softly, pulling at his arm again. For a few seconds, Spencer thought she wouldn’t budge again. Instead, she alarmingly turned around to face him, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal sleepy warm brown eyes. This, perhaps, was the best part of his day. Waking up to see those brown eyes that could hold such anger and joy and solemnity and curiosity and love. This was all his and he had to have been the luckiest man alive to have her here, encircled in his arms. Her nose twitched as she moved her head to rest on his shoulder, her fingers trailing mindlessly on his chest. “You look like you slept well,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“You mind calling Hartley to tell her that? I don’t think she’s gonna believe me,” Piper laughed. They would’ve stayed like that for hours if not for Emily’s hard rap at the door, yelling at them to wake up. She had taken it upon herself to wake people up on time for the flight, purely for the thrill of ordering them around. Within another, they were securely seated in the jet, JJ passing Derek a coffee as Emily took a seat next to Spencer. Piper had curled up in her seat with her hardcover copy of Edgar Allen Poe. Hotch and Rossi walked in together and Derek recognised his boss’s expression, no doubt at another one of Rossi’s terrible jokes.

“It's hard to believe that guy was so starved for attention that he murdered all those people just to one-up his father,” JJ murmured as she perched on an arm of the chair.

“I spoke with Detective Moreland about Connor's father Billy. He said the older police knew to give him a wide berth. He didn't say much, but when he did... People listened,” Derek offered with a sigh. “The adult version of a bully.”

“People spend entire lives trying to prove themselves,” Piper said quietly, turning a page. “To their fathers, their inner demons. For O’Brien, they were the same things.”

“There are lots of ways that sons defeat their fathers,” Hotch amended as he settled down next to Piper.

“I just keep getting PhDs,” Spencer said with a grin, which Piper mirrored.

“Does the son of a sociopath ever really have a chance?” Rossi asked solemnly.

“You know, O'Brien committed his crimes in the same jurisdiction as his father,” Emily stated loudly. “It's only a matter of time before he's put in the same prison.” The tension in the small closed space skyrocketed until Rossi broke it by asking about a game of poker and, unsurprisingly, Spencer held out multiple packets of Skittles. Over coffee and between stories, they played a game resulting in a toss-up between Emily and Spencer.


End file.
